I Could Never Leave You
by GhostAmongAngels
Summary: John is coping after seeing his best friend jump to his death. One night he wakes to see Sherlock. I apologize for any Reichenbach Fall PTSD I trigger. All characters and locales belong to Steven Moffat, no infringement intended.
1. Chapter 1: Alone in the Night

I Could Never Leave You

Chapter 1: Alone in the Night

John was having trouble sleeping again. When he dreamed it was nightmares. Jim Moriarty, the sodden prick, taunted him there. He sang to John "I killed Sherlock." John tossed and turned then finally sat up. There was a figure at his window. The man opened it and climbed inside. He turned away from John to close it. John blinked. It was _him_. John swore it, that tall figure at his window was Sherlock. It couldn't be. Sherlock was dead, he had jumped from the rooftop. It couldn't be Sherlock.

"Sherlock?" John asked. He didn't believe what he was seeing and was terrified that he was dreaming and that the man would turn around and be Moriarty. The figure turned. John knew it was a dream, Sherlock was standing at his window and Sherlock was dead. He took off his jacket and scarf and came and sat down next to John.

"You asked me not to be dead." He said. It sounded like him too. John reached out a hand to touch his cheek, it felt like him. It smelled like him, God John had missed that smell.

"Sherlock?" Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Yes John it's really me. You really thought I'd kill myself? I knew Moriarty had something planned so I planned something too." John smushed Sherlock's face between his hands.

"Sherlock?" John was beginning to think it might not be a dream. Half of him was disappointed, he rather liked the dreams he had of Sherlock. The other half was happy beyond measure, Sherlock was here and he wasn't dead. John practically sat in his lap when he hugged him. Sherlock wrapped his arms around him tentatively.

"Um, John?" John squeezed harder.

"I swear to God I will not be letting you out of my sight ever again." John breathed into Sherlock's shirt. Sherlock chuckled a little and pushed John away just slightly. He looked into John's eyes and saw all the love he had for him. Sherlock decided to be impulsive, he kissed John. One quick kiss on the lips. But quick was not what John wanted. John pulled Sherlock down on top of him in one surprisingly swift movement. Sherlock suspected it was because of his army days but he wasn't really thinking clearly at the moment, he was too concerned with John's tongue in his mouth. This was a new feeling for Sherlock. He only really ever been with one or two women and they had ended rather badly what with his psychoanalysis of their sexual preferences. But Sherlock had never been with a man, he found himself to be rather enjoying it actually.


	2. Chapter 2: A Longing I've Felt

Chapter 2: A Longing I've Felt

John woke to the sound of his alarm clock. He hated that noise. He turned in his bed, but Sherlock wasn't there. He sat up. The window was locked, from the inside, as it had been when he went to sleep. There was no coat or scarf on the floor or the chair. John got out of bed and went to the kitchen. Surely Sherlock would be there, or in the living room, looking for another case. But he wasn't.

"Sherlock?" John called. No answer. The room was dark but John didn't want to turn on a light. Where was Sherlock?

"Sherlock!" John shouted. He heard shuffling from downstairs. So Sherlock was with Mrs. Hudson, no surprise. John opened the fridge and reached for an apple, the first real thing he had eaten in months.

"John?" It was Mrs. Hudson.

"Is Sherlock down with you?" John asked. Mrs. Hudson looked sad.

"John… Sherlock is dead. You know that dear. He died seven months ago." John shook his head.

"No, he was here. He was in my room last night. I saw him. I…" John stopped. Mrs. Hudson was starting to cry. "Mrs. Hudson please believe me." She shook her head and ran downstairs.

"Mrs. Hudson!" John shouted. He sighed and put the apple back in the fridge. He sat down in his chair. Where was Sherlock? He waited all day, sitting in his chair. He didn't move and he didn't eat but that was nothing new. John fell asleep in his chair that night, still waiting for Sherlock.

John woke up around midnight. He got up from the chair and went to the window. Nothing moved outside. He checked the door, he locked it. He went to the bathroom, he went to his bedroom. He checked the window, still locked. He sat in his bed. He waited. It hadn't been a dream. It was too real to be a dream. It hadn't been a dream.

John woke to the sound of his alarm clock. He hated that noise. He turned in his bed, but Sherlock wasn't there. He sat up and ran his hands over his arms. The little voice in his head that sounded like his therapist kept telling him _it was only a dream John, just a dream_. John refused to believe it. Sherlock was alive, and Sherlock was not the fraud everyone claimed he had been. John didn't move from his bed the whole day. He didn't eat but that was nothing new.


	3. Chapter 3: Where the Blood Once Ran

Chapter 3: Where the Blood Once Ran

John was tired of waiting. It had been two days since his dream. Where was Sherlock? John knew he was alive, he could feel it. Some way somehow, Sherlock was alive. He decided to go to St. Bartholomew's Hospital in Smithfield. He stood in the same spot he had watched Sherlock fall from. John heard his voice in his head _that's what people do, don't they?_

_That's what people do…_

_What people do…_

_People…_

"You weren't people Sherlock. You never were. You were too clever for people." John says. He walks across the street and kneels in the spot where Sherlock had lain.

"Too bloody clever. I don't know how you did it, but I know you're alive. Somehow you're out there and I want you to stop this Sherlock." John felt tears starting, he angrily rubbed his eyes hoping to stop them. He didn't want to cry, there was no need, Sherlock was alive, he knew that.

"Stop. This… Please." John didn't like begging, he didn't like pleading, he didn't like crying. He was a soldier goddammit. Sherlock was in his head again. _Goodbye John._

_Goodbye._

"What's so bloody good about goodbye ay? What?" John stood and looked up, up to where Sherlock had stood once, where Sherlock had jumped from. John looked down then, his tears blurring his sight. He found a bench nearby and sat down heavily. His body was weary and hungry, his mind was clouded, he missed Sherlock.

_Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?_

"I'd have done anything for you Sherlock. I still would. Anything." John whispers.

_It's a trick. Just a magic trick._

"Anything. I would've killed that bastard in an instant. I would've caught you if I could've." He begins to cry again, short bursts of emotion he cannot even begin to control.

_John._

_Nobody could be that clever._

"You could've. I know you could've. I'd seen it. All those cases where…" John's nostrils flared and he gritted his teeth, "Moriarty wasn't involved, you solved them. All of them. How could you have done that if you were a fake? How. Tell me Sherlock because I sure as hell don't know." John let his head fall into his hands.

_This is my note._

"What did he say to you to make you do it? What did that bastard say?" John looked up at the building again. His face was red, his nose was running and his eyes were swimming in tears. He let them fall down his face now, he didn't care. It didn't matter.

"I believed in you Sherlock. But I can't. Not anymore…" John stood and tried to collect himself.

"I love you too much. And I just can't. Please… just… stop this." John began to walk away.

_John._

"No. I won't. I can't. Not anymore." He kept walking.

_John._

"Oh God. Why are you doing this? Just shut up. Shut up!"

_John._

"Stop it Sherlock. Don't!" John collapsed against the bricks on the other side of the street. He sobbed quietly.

_John._


	4. Chapter 4: And the Blood Washed Away

Chapter 4: And the Blood Washed Away

John went home that night quietly. He opened the door to 221B slowly and shut it slowly. He walked up the stairs like a dead man. He finally got to his bed and couldn't imagine sleeping. He went to the window and unlocked it just in case.

"He's gone John." He said to himself. He undressed and contemplated pajamas. Why did he need them? No one was there that he needed to hide himself from. He crawled under the covers as if they would protect him from the world. He fell asleep murmuring: "Don't be dead. Don't be dead. Don't be dead."

John was dreaming again. But the dream was different. He was on the roof with Sherlock. John spun about, taking in the view of Moriarty's cold dead body. John spit on him, he kicked him.

"You deserve that you bastard." John said. He turned to Sherlock.

_This phone call – it's... it's my note. It's what people do, don't they – leave a note?_

"Don't do this Sherlock. Please… for me." John walked up to him. He reached out to him but passed right through him. John was like a ghost. He got up on the ledge with Sherlock. He looked at him. Sherlock was crying.

_Goodbye John._ He tossed the phone and jumped. John watched him go. He watched as Sherlock's head smashed against the sidewalk and the blood began to flow. He watched it fade into the puddle of water and wash away. Sherlock stayed there, untouched. No one went to him. John looked around but no one was there. Moriarty's body was still on the roof and Sherlock's down below but there was no one else there.

_Goodbye John._ The words echoed in the air so loud John thought they might write themselves in the clouds.

"I'm alone." John said. "Is that was this dream was for? To tell me what I already knew? I bloody well know I'm alone because YOU. LEFT. ME!" John coughed. His throat was sore from screaming. He felt like he had been screaming for months. He felt like he had been screaming for seven months.

"All this time. All this time I've been alone and all I've wanted to do is be cross about it but I couldn't because I love you too God damn much Sherlock. Too much! But now here it is. I'm finally yelling. YOU. LEFT. ME! All alone, you left me to deal with it all. You left me so I had to pick up the mess and fix what you broke and you got to swagger off with your coat and your scarf and your stupid cheekbones into heaven or wherever the hell you went while I stayed here. YOU LEFT ME ALL ALONE SHERLOCK! How can I forgive you for that?" John's body swayed in the breeze. He felt it was right now. To do it.

"Goodbye Sherlock." And he fell. Down to the pavement. He felt his body hit the ground, he felt himself break and bend and fracture and it hurt but it was more than he had felt in a long while.

John sat up in his bed. He didn't shoot up as if from a nightmare but rather he woke as if from a deep sleep he hadn't known he had needed. He got out of bed, he put on his clothes and he walked out of 221B. He went back to Smithfield and the hospital. He sat down on the spot where he had landed in his dream. No one was around to see him lay out his body like he had felt it hit. He was face down, arms and legs out like some forlorn bird that impaled itself on a building. He let his face grind against the sidewalk and he felt it, he really felt it. He imagined Sherlock was there, in the same spot he was. When he breathed he pretended Sherlock did too. He lay there, pretending that he was dead and Sherlock was alive.

"Don't. Be. Dead." He breathed.


	5. Chapter 5: Two Dead Boys

Chapter 5: Two Dead Boys

John felt a kick in the back. He opened his eyes and it was dark. He was still on the ground outside St. Bart's.

"Are you ok?" John turned to see a hooded figure, a teenager based on the height.

"I'm fine." He said and got up.

"D'you want me to call somebody for you? I haven't got a mobile but…" John rolled his shoulders.

"No. I'm fine thank you." He started to walk away.

"Are you him?" The kid said. John turned. The boy removed his hood, he looked about fifteen, sixteen at the most. "I mean. Are you Mr. Watson? Sherlock Holmes' friend?" The boy looked shy asking, he folded his hands in front of him and looked down at his feet.

"What's your name?" John asked.

"Oh. Uh, sorry Mr. Watson. My names Jack. Jack Davis sir." John went to sit on the bench and Jack followed him.

"And what you doing out so late Jack?" John looked at the boy and tried to be like Sherlock, he tried to figure it all out.

"Oh, it's kind of… it's a bit embarrassing."

"Is it about a girl?" John asked. Jack looked at him surprised.

"Promise not to say nothing. Mum made me swear not to see her anymore. But I had to. She's sick see. Bad cold and I felt bad not being able to help and all."

"Why would I say anything? I don't even know your mother." John said, he was beginning to grow tired and wanted to return to the flat and get some rest. "You better be getting home though. Do you need any money for a taxi?" Jack shook his head.

"No sir. Thank you sir." The boy stood up and went to leave.

"Jack?" John called.

"Yes sir?" The boy stopped and turned.

"How did you know it was me?"

"I seen you in the papers sir, with Mr. Holmes." The boy hesitated, "You know. I don't believe any of it. All what they've been saying about him. I don't think he was a fake." Jack turned and walked down the street. John watched the boy turn a corner before putting his head in his hands and crying.

_John._

"No Sherlock stop it. I told you I was through. I didn't… Sherlock I'm sorry." There was a clatter in an alley nearby and John looked up. The street was deserted and dark and the sun was beginning to make its way up the horizon. There was a shadow in the alley though.

"What you want then?" John called. The shadow turned and walked away. A few months ago John might have followed, convinced it was Sherlock back from the dead. But now he didn't care. He was done believing in miracles that didn't happen. He was tired of pretending he saw things when he was just another blind man drawing his sword on a faceless enemy. John got up from his bench and walked home. He was tired of taxis too.

The flat was empty when he got there of course. It was just him now, no use denying it. John went to his bedroom and ignored the growling of his stomach. He took of his clothes and got into bed naked and looked at the open latch on the window.

"No one will convince me you told a lie. But I don't know if I can keep hope that you're alive. It hurts too much Sherlock. I'm sorry." He settled down into his bed and closed his eyes. He prayed he would not see Moriarty tonight.

He didn't fall asleep. He couldn't. So he sat up. He stared at the open window and thought that it was too cold in his room. Why had he opened the window? John's eyes widened.

"Sherlock?"


	6. Chapter 6: Speak Well of the Dead

Chapter 6: Speak Well of the Dead

But Sherlock wasn't there. He never had been. He was a ghost, a memory. Just another dead body. John was used to dead bodies, he was used to losing people he loved. He was used to being alone but God dammit he had been so close. He had finally found someone that made him feel alive, someone that brought him back into the world of the living and held him there and then he just vanished. It wasn't right and it wasn't fair. The sun began to rise. John got out of bed, he closed and latched the window and went into the bathroom. He turned the tap on hot and waited for the water to steam. He stripped off his clothes and put them in a heap outside the bathroom door. He looked at himself in the mirror. He looked meaner. The lines on his face were more defined, his skin hung a little more, his cheeks were beginning to look hollow. The darkness under his eyes was deepening. He looked older, sicker, and more frightening. He looked like how he felt. He opened the cabinet and looked inside. He brought out the razor. He looked at it. The blades were rusty, he realized that's why he kept cutting himself shaving. He switched out the blades and put the razor back. He didn't feel like shaving today. The mirror was beginning to fog. He stepped into the shower and let the water rush over his body. He stood there for a long time. The water cleared his head. When it rushed past his ears and over his eyes it blocked out the world. And even though he knew Sherlock was just in his head the water also seemed to block him out. He stood there until the water began to run cold. He didn't have the energy to wash anything so he turned the tap off and toweled himself off. He dressed and walked down the stairs and outside. He hailed a taxi. He had the cabbie bring him to the cemetery. The walk to Sherlock's grave was short but it felt so much longer. The woods looked comforting around him and the grass looked too green. He stood in front of the headstone and studied it. It was too shiny. He didn't think Sherlock would have liked it. It didn't say anything, just Sherlock Holmes. For one sick moment he wondered how decayed Sherlock's body was. He wondered if he would even recognize him now. His knee was beginning to hurt him. He sat down on the ground. He remembered when he first met Sherlock and how he had said, quite right too, that it was all in John's head.

_Psychosomatic._

"Shut up." He said aloud. "The dead aren't allowed to speak. It isn't right Sherlock." John hated that he was talking to himself. He loathed that he had gone this far down the rabbit hole. But he sat in front of the grave and hoped Sherlock would speak again. The longer he sat the more tired he became. He slumped lower until he was laying down. He imagined Sherlock, several feet below him, in the same position John was. He felt his head touch the stone and he felt closer to Sherlock.

_John._

"Sherlock." He murmured before drifting to sleep.

In his dream Sherlock came to the graveyard. John watched it from a far. He saw his own body lying before the headstone and he saw Sherlock walk up to it. Sherlock kneeled and took off his jacket, he placed it on John. Sherlock stayed a moment longer, just looking at him. John couldn't move, he tried calling out but it didn't work. He wanted to stay here with Sherlock while he could. But Sherlock stood and walked away in the opposite direction.

John woke and felt cold, he reached for the jacket but it wasn't there. It was still daytime but much later than it had been. He looked at his watch and saw that he had slept for several hours. He willed himself to fall asleep again so he might find Sherlock but his body and mind were too awake. He pushed himself into a sitting position in front of the stone and dragged his fingers across the engraving.

"Oh Sherlock." He sighed, "Sherlock Holmes, the only consulting detective in the world." Tears came unbidden, leaking from his eyes. Traitors, they cascaded down his face to the soil that lay on top of Sherlock.

_John._

"No." He said. But he only wept harder. "It isn't fair that you get to see me when I can't see you!" He hugged his arms around himself and leaned forward to rest his head on the gravestone. "It isn't fair Sherlock! You stop this right now! You come out where I can see you! Please!" He looked up at the sky because he knew if ever a man deserved to go to heaven it was Sherlock. "Please!" But he never came and John's tears ran out. Eventually he lost the will to do anything but sleep but the ground was colder and night was coming. He walked out of the cemetery a dead man. If any dead man should be walking it should have been Sherlock. John stumbled and limped and dragged his body back in the direction of 221B. He paused in an alleyway to catch his breath. He shouldn't have done that.


	7. Chapter 7: Saving the Soldier

Chapter 7: Saving the Soldier

John knew he was in trouble when he turned to leave the alley and found his way blocked. He turned round but a man stood there too. The two approached John slowly, Sharks to the scent of blood. They reached him, shadowy figures that John could not recognize as men or beasts. One drew a knife, one drew a gun, both advanced. The knife was placed at John's throat. He felt the steel biting into his skin and part of him wished it would get it over with. The gun was pressed against his heart.

"You shouldn't be here old man." The one with the gun threatened. John resisted the urge to gulp. Instead he closed his eyes and slowly brought his open hands up towards his head. He dared not speak.

"And you shouldn't either Thomas." A voice at the end of the alley made the gunman turn.

"On the run from a murder charge and you're picking on old men in alley ways? That's low even for you." The voice advanced but John's eyes were closed. He pretended it was Sherlock but when reality made a crack at his fantasy he wished it was Lestrade or another officer.

"And Jeffery. Oh I should've known you'd be likely to pair up with him. But honestly boys, look at him. Hasn't eaten for days, hasn't shaved either. Just a man. So why him? Was he just in your way? I bet if you had walked by him he wouldn't have even remembered you. How about you let him go before the police arrive, wouldn't want to be running from two charges would you? And Jeffery, you're still on parole." The men withdrew their weapons and made a dash down the alley away from the voice. John finally gulped and turned to his savior, he opened his eyes and it was Sherlock. It was the coat with the collar turned up, the blue scarf, the high cheekbones, the eyes that changed color, the hair that was always a mess and most importantly the smile that said 'I know I'm a genius.' John stared. He shook his head. He hit his forehead.

"Get out of my head Sherlock." He growled. He pushed past the ghost but the ghost was solid. He grabbed it's coat and pushed it against the wall.

"Who the hell are you? _What_ the hell are you?" The figure looked confused… and he looked sad.

"John." He said, and it was enough to make John collapse into his arms. The figure hauled him back to his feet and put his arm around him. He helped John onto the street and half carried him to Baker Street. He unlocked the door with a key that wasn't John's and brought John up the stairs. The ghost laid John in his bed and removed his shoes. He then left. John stared up at the ceiling. He didn't understand how he had gotten here, how he had gotten away from those men. He lay in bed wondering. The figure returned.

"I'm going to turn on the light now John." It said. John screwed up his eyes and the light flicked on. He opened them slowly, adjusting them. He turned to the figure and it was still Sherlock.

"You came then." John said. Sherlock cocked his head.

"I expected you to have wings or… I dunno, be less solid. Something. Isn't that how it is with ghosts or angels?" Sherlock came and sat down on his bed.

"John, I'm not a ghost or an angel. I'm really here." He put his hand on John's and squeezed it.

"Thank you for lying to me but it's alright Sherlock. It's ok. I've accepted it. But I've got you here," he put a finger to his brain, "and here," then pointed to his heart. He sighed and dropped his hand back down.

"I kept hearing you but I wanted to see you. You must have heard that though, that's why you're here then. Because I called. I wasn't sure if you'd answer but-" Sherlock leaned down to John's face. John felt his breath run across his cheeks and lips.

"I'm not a ghost." He said. John reached his hand up and placed it on Sherlock's head. He ran his hand through his hair.

"No." John furrowed his eyebrows, "No. I guess you're not."


	8. Chapter 8: I Couldn't Fight It

Chapter 8: I Couldn't Fight It

_"I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited_

_But I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it_

_I had hoped you'd see my face and that you'd be reminded_

_That for me it isn't over."_

_-Someone Like You by Adele [Song Lyrics belong to Adele, no infringement intended]_

"How'd you do it?" John asked, his hand still in Sherlock's hair. "No, never mind. I don't want to know." Sherlock tried to sit back up but John held him there. Forcing Sherlock to remain by his side, touching him made him real. He wasn't sure he still believed it. Sherlock frowned but stayed put.

"I would have thought you'd be angrier." He said, his mouth inches from John's.

"Oh I am." John replied. He yanked Sherlock's head down a fraction. "I really really am." Sherlock grunted a placed a hand on John's, he tried to coerce John's fingers into letting his hair go. John relented and dropped his hand to the bed. Sherlock sat up and ruffled the back of his head.

"I was never far John." Sherlock breathed.

"But I didn't know that. So instead I inven-" he stopped talking. He didn't want Sherlock to know he had gone full out insane and had been talking to himself. Sherlock gave him a look, the 'we both know what's going on' look.

"John I heard you." He looked down as if he were guilty. "And I'm sorry John. I really am." He was still holding John's hand so John gave it a little squeeze.

"Will you still be here when I wake up?" John asked. He instantly regretted it, he sounded like a child but he wanted to know. He had done this before, believed Sherlock was here and woken to an empty bed once again. Sherlock walked around to the other side of the bed and laid down beside John.

"Yes." He said simply. John comforted himself with that. He breathed in Sherlock's scent and felt when he pulled the covers up around John's shoulders. He found Sherlock's hand beneath the sheets and he held onto it. When he dreamed it was once again third person. Sherlock came into his bedroom and laid his jacket over John. He still couldn't move or speak but this time Sherlock didn't walk away. He stayed. He sat beside John and stroked his face. When John woke Sherlock was doing that, touching his face. John knew he was awake and he knew Sherlock was here and solid, real and genuine. Sherlock leaned in, his nose brushed John's. John closed his eyes and closed the gap between their lips. He kissed Sherlock softly but Sherlock became rougher. He pushed into John and rolled on top of him. When the kiss broke Sherlock stayed above him.

"John." Sherlock whispered. "I missed you."

"I know you idiot." John reached his hands up to bring Sherlock's face back down to his. Their kiss was more passionate than any dreams John's subconscious had imagined. When John dreamed he made Sherlock into a God, some untouchable force that he begged to from beneath but here Sherlock was tangible. He was mortal. His skin was soft and malleable and John's fingers pushed into it easily. He was human and alive. Pumping blood, beating heart, warm lips. Reality, something John had thought he had been losing his grip on.

"Don't leave me." John whispered. Sherlock hung his head.

"Oh John, I'm never leaving you again."


	9. Chapter 9: The Rain Starts

Chapter 9: The Rain Starts

Outside the rain was beginning to pick up. John looked over at the clock and found it was midnight. He turned back to Sherlock who was still on top of him. Sherlock looked back at him. His eyes looked deeper than John remembered. They looked like Sherlock had been to war, and John supposed on some level he had. Sherlock was darker, almost like some angst ridden science fiction movie villain. His face seemed older.

"Seven months." John whispered and Sherlock looked away. He rolled off of John to the other side of the bed and lay on his back. He stared up at the ceiling as though it would give him a way of apologizing. John sighed.

"I never doubted you." He murmured. His eyes closed for a moment and he flashed to that day.

_I can't come down, so we'll… we'll just have to do it like this._

_It's all true._

_I'm a fake._

"Not for one second. No one could fake being that brilliant. No one Sherlock. I… I always believed in you." Sherlock brought his hands to his face and covered it. He dragged his hands down till they steepled below his chin.

"John I had no choice." He said finally and his voice was horse as if he had been crying. John simply nodded. He shut his eyes again and Moriarty appeared.

_I'm an actor._ Moriarty grinned with wild eyes that set John on edge. He snapped his eyes back open and sat up. The movement was quick enough to worry Sherlock.

"John? Are you alright?" John shook his head but held his tongue, not wanting to admit his fear of a dead man.

"John." Sherlock whispered.

"I'm fine." John attempted to whisper. But his voice caught and Sherlock knew he wasn't alright. He hadn't been alright for a long time and it was Sherlock's fault. Sherlock sat up beside John and placed his hand on his shoulder. He leaned into him.

"Talk to me John." He begged. "Let me make this right." John shook his head and a tear escaped his tightly closed eyes.

"He tortures me." John let out in a pained whisper. Sherlock held his hand as support.

"Every time I close my eyes he comes to me and taunts me. About how he killed you. I have nightmares about the day you jumped. Nightmares that never stop. I have dreams that I'm up there with you… that I jump too." Sherlock's breathe catches. He had never expected John to get so low.

"I have dreams you come to me. I hear you whispering my name in my ear. John, John, John. Over and over again just like you did right after you said goodbye. And then you jump and I wake up and feel empty." John's voice gets louder as he speaks, progressing from a tiny whisper to an audible speaking voice. Sherlock winces when John says the word 'goodbye.' John turned to him suddenly and placed his hands on Sherlock's face.

"You're not going to leave me again." Not a question or a demand, just a statement of truth because even if Sherlock had been planning to leave he had no doubt John would have followed. Sherlock said nothing, just sat with John's hands on his face. He wished the world would stop turning.


	10. Chapter 10: Darkness is Coming

Chapter 10: Darkness is Coming

In the days that came John began to trust Sherlock again. He was able to leave the room without worrying that he would return to find it empty. He could fall asleep without his arms clenched around Sherlock's body. They did not kiss in that time. John was still partly angry, his desperate needing of Sherlock was slowly being quenched. John returned to his blog one day. He looked at the date of the last entry. It had been a small thing dedicated to Sherlock.

Although he is now painted as a fraudulent, egotistical man who sought only attention, I know who Sherlock Holmes was. He was the best of them all, the greatest man I ever knew. He saved lives and solved crimes and if you think someone could fake being that brilliant you are wrong. I believe in Sherlock Holmes and that will _never_ change.

He read it and shut his laptop. He could not add a new entry, he could not tell the world that Sherlock Holmes lived. Because that would do no good for either of them. Sherlock was now his secret. A secret he loathed keeping. Sometimes he would snap at Sherlock, shouting at him. They were quick exchanges in which Sherlock hung his head in acceptance and defeat and John's heart would once again soften. When he shouted he said things that were trivial, he nitpicked because he didn't want to shout the truth. Sherlock caught him one evening. John was ready to snap again, this time his excuse was the cleanliness of the apartment. Sherlock stopped him before he started.

"Stop." He commanded and John stared him down. "Whatever it is you're angry about, say it. You're not going to do any good by shouting at the world about meaningless things." John sank into his chair across from Sherlock. He steepled his fingers like Sherlock always did, a habit he had acquired out of missing him. He closed his eyes and sighed. Sherlock remained patient, sitting across from John, his hands palms down on his lap.

"You left me… a-all-" his voice cracked, "all alone. For seven months. You were dead Sherlock. And I had to live with that. I had to stand in front of the press and try and convince them it wasn't true. I had reporters knocking on my door at all hours, hoping to get some new information. Everyone believed we were a couple. They printed all sorts of things about the 'grieving' widow. And after a while I stopped caring because it was true. I loved… I love you. And the press made it into some scandalous thing. They bastardized it just like they bastardized you… and all this time… you were alive. You were out there and you didn't say anything. Nothing. You just left me." He was crying again, quiet tears that made no sound only dripped continuously from his eyes. Sherlock procured a tissue.

"John." He sighed. He said it the same way he had said it before he jumped. He said it like an apology. "John. I could never leave you." He slid off his chair onto his knees before John and placed his head in John's lap. He balled up the material of John's jumper into his fists and tried not to allow himself to weep too.


	11. Epilogue: Together in the Night

Epilogue: Together in the Night

John was having trouble sleeping again. He muttered under his breath. He jolted awake and sat up. He rubbed his eyes and looked to the window, it was open again. He sighed and went to close it. He sat in bed and rubbed his face. He hadn't shaved the day before, he ought to remember to do that tomorrow… he looked at the clock… later today then. It was 7:27, he flopped back down on the bed and let the pillow cradle his head. He thought about the past six years and smiled. Sherlock had returned into the world with little fuss. They got back to solving cases, careful to stay out of the light of the press as much as possible. Mrs. Hudson had cried and then scolded Molly when she found out she had been in on it. About a year later Mrs. Hudson had found a nice bloke, one who was good to her. Sherlock approved and two years after that they married. Molly had found someone too although she was really very hesitant about getting too serious. They had moved in together though and were working towards something. Anderson had left his wife for Sally. That only lasted a few months and Anderson returned to his wife, begging forgiveness. Sally had then moved out to Cardiff. Lestrade was still a bachelor but he had developed a close friendship with Mycroft which was nice. John smiled wider when his thoughts returned to Sherlock. Ever the hero. Sherlock had cleared his name, proved Richard Brooks was a fallacy and that Moriarty was not an invention. That put Lestrade's mind at ease. Sometimes Sherlock would come home late at night and tell John that he had been at Moriarty's grave. John never questioned it, it was just something he needed. The nightmares of Moriarty had stopped for John thankfully. He was happy. Sherlock mumbled in his sleep beside John. He opened his eyes and turned to John.

"Can't sleep?" he asked groggily. John nodded. Sherlock reached his hand over to touch John's face.

"It'll be alright John." He said. John simply nodded.

"John you can't expect something too soon, these things take time." John sighed and rolled to face Sherlock.

"I just want to get the call already." He said. Just then the phone rang. John looked at Sherlock with wide eyes. Sherlock yawned and got up. He went out to get the phone. John heard him talking then the phone was put down again. Sherlock returned and stood in the doorway.

"Who was it?" John asked. He sat up and put his hands to his heart. "Was it them?" Sherlock nodded and John's heart skipped a beat. Sherlock's face broke into a smile before he said, "Our son has just been born."


End file.
